Born to be Magic

By Jessica Hopkins

"Old-school urban fantasy full of hard-hitting action and acerbic wit. If you like police procedurals and magic with a side of attitude, you can't go wrong with BORN TO BE MAGIC!" - Michael F. Haspil, author of GRAVEYARD SHIFT

"Hopkins' prose... is snarky and muscular... fans of urban fantasy will appreciate Hopki

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natural Ten Media
• Release date: Aug 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737335320

Book preview

One

Do you have to pass a psych eval to join the circus? If so, I'd probably fail it.

Maybe I could go back to school, finish my degree. Or I'm pretty good with cars, I could be a mechanic. Some people think about this stuff when they've just graduated college, when they're stuck in a dead-end job, or maybe as part of a mid-life crisis.

Me? I generally think it when I'm getting shot at.

Debris rained down again and I threw up an arm to protect my eyes. Plaster dust filled the air, a musty, chalky cloud that made me cough. I adjusted my grip on my Sig and leaned to the left to take a look around the wall. The twang of a crossbow sounded and a rocket soared past my face. I jerked my head back just in time. A hulking, ruddy creature vaguely resembling a medieval knight lowered the bow and began to reload. Youthful laughter echoed around me.

Dude, I think you played a bit too much D&D, I yelled around the wall as I loaded a new magazine. Light glinted off the sigils engraved on the bullets' casings. Some people carry armor-piercing rounds, I carry spell-piercing rounds. Because my life is fucked up. I was fighting a life-size chess piece in this kid's basement for Christ's sake.

You're an insect, witch! No match for my power!

I rolled my eyes. Grandiose statements and unsettling giggling from a barely legal corrupt witch drunk on demon magic, and a Lancelot-shaped golem shooting flaming arrows at my head. This day was climbing the ranks in my list of Least Awesome Days Ever.

Ethan, my partner, crouched on the other side of the doorway, loading the same spelled bullets into his own gun. I caught his eye and pointed to my chest, then jerked my thumb in the direction of Grand Master Evil in the other room. Ethan shook his head. Before I could move, he leapt up and began firing, diving into the room and looking for cover. I swore and followed him.

Claymation Lancelot loosed another bolt. I dodged to the right and the flaming arrow sailed past me. I emptied the magazine into the golem's head. Ozone and something sour, like decaying vegetables, tainted the air as white sparks of energy crackled over it. I'd blown its head clean off. Bits of clay crumbled to the ground as the golem staggered, lurching like a drunk zombie. It crashed to its knees and broke apart into a jumble of red rocks. I looked around for Ethan and reloaded my gun. This was my last magazine. Time to end this.

Ethan flattened himself beside a large vertical freezer, his shield active to fend off a barrage of corrupt spells. The kid tossed them without finesse or form. Our information said he was nineteen, but he looked twelve. Oily dirty blonde hair stuck to a forehead pockmarked with acne, flapping over eyes dark with power. Wearing a too-big t-shirt, stained jeans, and tennis shoes, he would have looked more at home at a gaming convention. Flabby, greasy power rolled off him, traces of the demon that rode him, but the red-eyed son of a bitch was nowhere to be seen. The demon had probably promised to make this kid's dreams come true and granted him power far beyond his control, all in a Billy Mays-like pitch--infinite power, kid, act now and it's yours for the bargain-basement price of your soul. It was a story I knew well, and I hated it. Now I'd have to kill this kid, barely out of childhood, because he'd become a corrupt witch.

Hey, badass, why don't you share the love? I prowled toward him, steps sure, breathing slow. The kid swung his gaze to me. He panted and his hands shook. He was running out of juice. A strangled scream left his mouth as he hurled a blob of magic at me. With a thought and a pulse of my will, I activated my shield. A sphere invisible to the naked eye but vibrating with magic hummed to life around me. The corrupt spell thwacked into it and splattered into rivulets of oily power. I ground my teeth, the tattoo on my shoulder that housed the shield heating up under the strain.

Kid, you're outmatched. You got two seconds to give it up or I'm going to put a bullet between your eyes. I had no faith it would go that easy, but hey, can't blame a girl for trying.

You can't touch me! I'm stronger than you! His voice cracked with the notes of adolescence. Sometimes I really hated my job.

One.

Go to hell, bitch! He flung another wad of magic at me. Splat, sizzle, burn.

Two. The kid reached back, gathering power to him, and I fired two quick shots. The first one shattered his ward. The second nailed him on the left side of his chest. Despite my threat, I wanted to give this kid's parents the chance for an open-casket funeral. It was the least I could do.

A quarter-sized splotch of dark fluid stained his shirt and his jaw dropped. The madness drained from eyes that flew open wide and he scrabbled at his chest, as if he could pull the bullet out. Gunshot wounds aren't like the movies. For one thing, it takes longer to die.

I sank another round into his chest and he dropped to the floor.

I sighed heavily and jogged toward him, my gun trained on his head. The kid was dying, but he could still pull magic. His eyes found me and he made weak, mewling sounds that reminded me of a dying deer. He looked even younger now. Goddammit. I slumped him against the wall.

How far? Ethan asked softly.

I rested a hand on the boy's arm, dropped into the psychic realm and scanned his aura. Fetid shadows pulsed through him everywhere, burrowing like fat maggots through his soul. Full-blown journey into evil. I cursed.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. The kid was crying. A wet, phlegmy sound drowned his words and he gasped for breath. The bullet hole itself gurgled--it's called a sucking chest wound for a reason. Would have been kinder to put it in his heart, Rachel. I j-just wanted...to be-be-be s-strong. To m-make people like me. I tried to shush him.

Bullshit. He wanted to cause pain, to make people fear him. Maybe he was bullied. Maybe he had a shitty home life. Maybe he'd just swan dived over the cliff of crazy. It didn't matter. The moment he made a deal with a demon and used that power to kill people, he made a choice. And now he had paid the price for it.

I-it hurts, he sobbed.

I know. It'll be over soon. I took his hand and he squeezed my fingers, gripping my hand like it could anchor him to life. His body jerked and twitched. His eyes, round with fear, darted around wildly as his blood pooled beneath him.

It took him twelve minutes to die. I closed his eyes.

Were you seriously holding his hand? Ethan's frown was far louder than his voice.

Shut up. I pulled a flat grey disk, about the size of a quarter, out of my pocket and placed it on the kid's arm. It glowed bright blue for an instant, then swirled with black until it faded back to dull grey. I handed the disk to Ethan and stood, brushing crushed clay and plaster from my knees. A faint buzzing sound, like overhead power lines, filled the air, the sound of our super special bullets and their casings warping, rendering them useless to police forensics teams. The Council would take care of the rest. Andy Walker's death would go down as one more tragic victim of gun violence. Thank God we lived in America.

I pulled out my phone and tapped in a number.

National Cleaning Services. That was a nice euphemism for hiding crime scene evidence from the vanilla cops.

This is Deputy Rachel Collins. We're done here. Need a cleanup crew, I said.

Text your location, deputy, and report to the local captain. The woman's voice was bland, professional, and efficient. It signified everything I hated about the Council.

Aye-aye, Cap'n. Want me to pick up the dry cleaning too? Maybe a gallon of milk?

Just report in, Rachel.

Miss Manners hung up on me.

#

The High Council of Witches is a screwy group. It's been around since the plague and functions sort of like a magical government made up of born witches--people with innate magical ability. There are other kinds of witches. Low-level practitioners without enough magic to cause much trouble. And then there are the criminals: witches who get their power by making deals with demons. There aren't many born witches, a few thousand in the whole country, though not every born witch joins the Council. The ones that do get put to work, like at summer camp. Some witches are archivists, preserving our history and magical knowledge. Some are redactors, sneaky bastards that keep us out of the normal history books and newspapers. Some are teachers, showing young witches how to control their magic, and some eggheads manage the Council's investments. Those talented with bureaucracy work in the human government to ensure we stay hidden and get the cooperation we need when necessary.

Some very unlucky witches like myself end up in the Justice branch, which is like supernatural law enforcement. Deputies go out and track down corrupt witches, hopefully bringing them in alive. We also handle any unregulated supernatural creature that's gone off the rails. Captains dole out our cases using human law enforcement as a cover; weird shit goes down, and mysteriously the case ends up in Council deputies' hands. Only our perps never end up in the vanilla judicial system. No, we've got our own trials, our own judges, our own prisons--even our own executioners. Our entire purpose is to keep the most violent amongst our kind from wreaking havoc on the normals.

It's like Law & Order, but with witchcraft.

The Council doesn't like me much. Feeling's mutual. Born witches choose whether or not to join the Council at eighteen. It’s a big commitment—lifetime of service or death. Guess the Council doesn’t trust us not to blab its secrets if we bailed. I originally turned the Council down. I went to college, pre-med, until I got the mother of all wake-up calls my junior year. Then I came running back, and was put through the ringer for my trouble. Council witches have been up my ass since I was thirteen. But it's not exactly like I've got a lot of career options, so for the last six years, I've just kept my head down, done my job, and carried out orders to the best of my ability. The Council and I disagree over what best of my ability means, though. I'm not exactly a team player.

We'd done our jobs, and now the captain and cleanup crew would do theirs. When people died by magical means, there aren't good explanations, so, in the great tradition of secret organizations everywhere, the Council covered it up. Minutes ticked by. My nerves buzzed. I paced. I kept listening for the sound of sirens--the Council had fingers in all kinds of pies that generally kept my ass out of jail, but hanging around crime scenes didn't exactly instill a sense of calm. Exhaustion moved in as adrenaline fled and I rubbed at my right wrist. I felt like the dead kid was staring at me, accusing me. Maybe if we'd come sooner, if the local witches had been paying attention, he wouldn't have gone so far. Maybe we could have saved him. My temper flared. The Council made a lot of promises, but from where I stood, it seemed like all we ever were was too freaking late.

Stop it, Rachel.

I ceased pacing and flicked my eyes to Ethan. He was giving me that lame-ass look that meant he was about to have a heart-to-heart moment with me.

I'm not doing anything, I said.

Yes, you are. You're second-guessing and getting pissed off and you know it's no use. We did our jobs.

Yeah, right. Because killing teens was exactly what I signed up for.

Rachel...

Yeah, yeah, I know.

The captain showed up about a hundred and fifty years later. She marched into the basement like she owned the place, flanked by two witches in black shirts and pants. I personally thought they should wear suits so I could call them J and K, but nobody appreciated my wit.

Where's the usual captain? I demanded.

Busy. She smiled. I scowled and dug around in my memory for her name as she surveyed the carnage around us. Michelle Baycone. Alright, so, what've we got?

Ethan filled her in while I stood there feeling like a kid sent to the principal's office for blowing up the chemistry lab. Michelle was about my mom's age, her brown hair streaked with grey. She looked like a damn second-grade teacher in a pale pink blouse and Dockers, but if she was a captain, it meant she could kick some serious ass. I'd know.

So the witch in question was a corrupted human, nineteen, Andrew Walker. You were unable to apprehend? she asked. We nodded. What measures did you take?

Ethan answered before I could speak. We tracked a series of hexes tied to suspicious deaths back to the practitioner. Magic signature was a match. He handed her the disk I'd used to sample Andy's aura, and two others just like it in plastic evidence bags. He was using coins planted on the victims to target the spells. We then approached the subject at his home and informed him who we were. He conjured a golem and attacked us. We both confirmed demon involvement. Deputy Collins had no choice but to kill him, ma'am.

I gave him an annoyed sideways glance and he shrugged.

Michelle pulled an electronic device out of her pocket, roughly the size of an old graphing calculator, and slid the disks into it one by one. Magic signature match confirmed. Soul analysis performed?

Yeah. Full-on corrupt, I said.

Michelle swung her eyes to Ethan. Do you concur?

Yes, ma'am.

Alright. Well, seems pretty cut-and-dried. Let's wrap this up, shall we? She waved a hand at us and we both held out our right arms. Dimestore J and K took our right wrists and placed two fingers on the inside, as if checking for a pulse. A wave of magic rolled off them as they muttered an incantation and a brand swam to the surface of my skin. A sword. It rose in a brownish-red stain, as if burned there, but it wasn't anything so mundane. It was seared on my soul.

The sword glowed a bright white before fading back to brown. The witch holding my arm gave me a curt nod, then looked at Michelle. Both clean.

I rubbed at my wrist as the mark faded, doing my best impression of a drowned cat. Every fucking job they tested us. It got old.

Good. Well, nice job, Michelle said. We'll handle the rest. You two are free to go. The judgment on whether a boy's life had been worth taking was over in less than ten minutes. My stomach churned into a hard lump but I kept my face blank as we walked toward the door.

Oh, Rachel? Michelle said just as my foot was on the first step. Victor wants a word. Give him a call, would you?

Jesus Christ.

Yeah, fine, I said, anxiety prickling up my spine. Ethan smirked and tried to put his hand on my back. I ducked it and jogged up the stairs. Victor freaking North. Awesome.

We left Fort Collins and headed to one of my favorite bars in Denver, even though I didn't feel much like celebrating and Ethan wouldn't shut up about a lot of shit I didn't want to talk about.

All I'm saying is, it's not a bad thing for Victor to like you, he argued, wagging a fry at me.

I glared at my salad. I don't think he likes me. I think he's waiting for me to screw up.

Why do you say that?

I don’t know. Just a feeling. You weren't there when I was sworn in. Victor had made it clear he didn’t trust my judgment, coming back to the Council after three years of rejecting it. He hadn’t said as much, but I got the message.

Oh come on, Rachel.

Whatever. I just feel like the fucking eye of Sauron is on me. I grimaced and took a drink of my beer. It's just like with the scans.

Ethan sighed, giving me a look that said he'd rather be doing his taxes. You know why they do it.

Doesn't mean I don't think it's stupid.

It's a failsafe.

Still sucks.

It's like that for every witch.

No, it's not. My voice came out harsher than I intended and I hid behind another gulp of my beer. Most born witches are elementals—witches who command the power of nature. I’m something different: a ley witch, power that made me unpredictable, dangerous. A freak. I’d gotten that message too. Suspicion and distrust had followed me around ever since I was a kid.

Ethan didn't say anything for a long time. I’d been partnered with Ethan for about three months, and we were still feeling each other out. He had been born to a human family and carried baggage from that that made him practically worship the Council. It was nice to find a place to fit in. I wouldn’t know, and it was possible I resented him for that.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. My brother. God bless his timing. Hey, Danny. What's up?

Hey, sister. You still on the job?

Nah, we're done here. Just celebrating another one in the 'win' column.

That bad, huh?

Kid was barely legal.

I know. He sunk a lot of meaning into those two words and I picked at the withered corner of my placemat, wishing my big brother could just give me a hug. Sometimes I'm such a fucking child. But hey, got something to take your mind off it. Feel like helping me with a case?

Sure. You joining the glamorous deputy life?

He laughed. No, just doing a favor for Elena. Meet me at Mom and Dad's tomorrow?

I agreed, ended the call, and looked up to see Ethan staring at me. What?

You just said you'd meet your brother in Dillon tomorrow.

Yeah?

So we just got off a case.

You know what they say, Ethan. Rolling stone gathers no moss. I flashed him my crazy smile and dropped a few bills on the table. I could physically feel the eye roll he gave me in response.

Two

I picked Ethan up late the next morning and made the hour-long drive to Dillon. He ground his teeth, his hand clenching around the door handle as I careened my old hardtop Jeep through the mountains. It only made me drive faster.

My dad waited in the living room, the shirt of his uniform unbuttoned and his normally open and friendly face lined with exhaustion. He might have come across as a sleepy town sheriff, but his bright blue eyes still sparkled with intelligence. My dad never missed a thing. Our dog, Maya, a bear-sized black and tan Tibetan mastiff, barreled into my legs, knocking me back against the wall. I absently scratched her behind the ears and shuffled toward the couch.

Y'all finally get outta bed? My dad grew up in Texas and moved to Colorado forty years ago, but he'd never lost his drawl.

Well, you know, need my beauty sleep. Speaking of getting out of bed, where were you yesterday?

When you get to my pay grade, you get a day off. Didn't they tell you that?

Yeah, right. My dad was a Council captain for the state of Colorado. People expected me to be just like him. Didn't take them long to be sorely disappointed.

You should ask her how fast she was driving on the way up here, Ethan said.

What? It's summer. No snow. I disappeared into the kitchen, rummaging around for a beer. Returning to the couch, I took a swig as I folded a leg beneath me.

Really, Rachel? It's not even noon. Ethan did a fantastic impression of an 1800s schoolmarm.

"I'm sorry, I thought this was my dad. I turned to face my father. Anyway, do you know what this case is that Danny has?"

Somethin' 'bout a missin' girl. Local pack petitioned the Council, but they denied it.

Why? Ethan asked. I made a face. Weres and vampires generally policed their own, but sometimes they worked with us on serious issues. It was beneficial for all of us to stay off the vanilla humans' radar.

Not rightly sure. Council's been funny lately, y'know.

I snorted. Both men looked like they didn't get the joke. Well, you know, it's the Council. I've always kind of thought they had their head up their ass.

You do realize that the Council includes you? Ethan asked.

Only technically. Anyway-- I was interrupted by the sheer chaotic noise created only by hurricanes and nine-year-old boys. My nephew burst through the kitchen door, catapulted into the living room and flew into me with a tackle that would make Lawrence Taylor proud.

Easy killer, you're going to squish me, I said, chuckling as I ruffled Jake's hair. Danny ambled in after his son, taking a seat beside me. A warm smile lit his face, although he sported some pretty spectacular bags under his eyes. Jake looked just like his dad--sandy blonde hair like Mom, Dad's summer sky eyes, looking like they should be on a freaking GQ cover or something. Me, though--Danny liked to joke I was the mailman's baby. No one knew where my dark red hair and honey brown eyes came from, and no one wanted to claim parentage for my mouth.

Hey Aunt Rachel, guess what? Jake crowed.

What?

Chicken butt. He laughed hysterically and then took off again, bolting out the door into the backyard.

Is that kid mainlining sugar? I asked, punching my brother in the shoulder. He lashed out to sock me in the thigh. I yelped and jerked away, rubbing at it.

I feed him a steady diet of amphetamines and chocolate milk, Danny drawled.

So what's the scoop? I asked.

My brother picked up a manila folder from the coffee table and passed it to me. The seal on the front said Summit County Sheriff's Office. So Dad had done some digging.

I flicked the folder open and scanned the contents. Police report for a missing person, Sadie Warren. Twenty-one, dark hair, dark eyes. Warm bronze skin. Kind smile.

She a were? I looked up at my brother.

No.

Thought you said this was a pack case?

It is. Sadie's connected to one of Elena's packmates. His girlfriend, I guess. She disappeared yesterday and I got the impression this was a time-sensitive matter. You know Elena.

I nodded, flipping through pages. Elena Rios was Alpha of the Platte River Pack and played things pretty close to the vest. The fact that she’d asked for Council help spoke volumes as to how serious she considered this case to be. Secretive and proud, Elena only barely tolerated witch involvement in pack affairs.

Ethan circled behind the couch to look over my shoulder. What is she then?

Haven't gotten that far yet, Danny said.

Since when does the pack care about outsiders? Ethan crossed his arms, looking at the report like it was the one wrinkled corner on a perfectly made bed.

You know Elena, Danny repeated darkly.

Any reason to think this isn't just a regular case for Denver PD? I shuffled through a few pages, chewing on my lip. Nothing jumped out at me. Despite creepifying stories about things with fangs and claws, sometimes the worst monsters are human.

It could be, Danny said, but Elena didn't seem to think so.

Could it be hunters? Ethan asked. Most humans lived in a state of ignorance regarding the supernatural. Others knew the truth.

Maybe, but there's no body. I heard the unspoken yet in my brother's tone. Shit was apparently serious.

And the Council doesn't think there's something here? I asked. Without Council approval, we'd be working this case off the clock, which might ruffle some feathers. As a professional feather-ruffler, I didn't really care, but I was curious as to how my brother, Mr. Straight and Narrow, felt about it.

'This case is not appropriate for Council involvement at this time,' Danny said. Minute flickers of tense muscle played across his face. Freaking Council, man. I owe Elena, and that's why I called you. Now that you've been trained up a bit, I thought you might be sort of useful.

I stuck out my tongue. Says the guy who rides a desk for a living. I glanced at my dad. If this is off the books, we won't have a cover with CBI. My particular day job was as an agent with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation Major Crimes Unit. Same for Ethan. It was official sounding and most people had no idea just what the hell the CBI did--the perfect cover. Council higher-ups made sure weird cases got passed to us through vanilla channels and ensured no one ever asked too many questions. It was all very CIA, and just like real CIA officers, I had to actually show up at my cover job, too.

I'll get somethin' sent to your boss, my dad said. Might not be an official Council case, but it's worth doin' to keep relations with the pack in good standin'.

Works for me.

The smell of bacon and pancakes drifted into the room and my stomach growled. A few minutes later, my mom called from the kitchen. Excellent. Breakfast and supernatural crime fighting, these are a few of my favorite things.

#

The sky above the mountains looked like a freaking postcard as Danny, Ethan, and I left later that afternoon. The crisp air invigorated my senses, smelling clean and sharp. I climbed into my Jeep and followed my brother's Land Rover as we headed east on I-70.

Danny had left Jake in Dillon, and the plan was for us to divide and conquer: Ethan and Danny would tackle research, while I investigated Sadie. I wanted to stop by my house and get my shit together first. I spent a lot of time at my folks', but I actually lived in a small cabin closer to Denver.

I snaked up the winding dirt road that led to my property. I enjoyed its remoteness and the solitude of the trees, and the privacy both afforded. Nosy neighbors were not conducive to my witchy ways.

I made myself a cup of tea and spread the police report in front of me. I tried to make Sadie real, to imagine what kind of person she was. I didn't want her to just be a two-inch-square photo and some impersonal report.

Something about this girl was off. Weres didn't typically date outside the pack, and they sure as hell didn't run around with normals. Elena, the Alpha of Denver's werewolves, ran a tight ship. None of hers had ever harmed a human. To do so was an offense punishable by death, and I doubted she'd tolerate violence from an outsider either. If one had broken her rules and somehow escaped her justice, I would have known. I would have put him down.

So why did Elena want the Council's help? It didn't surprise me that she hadn't enumerated her reasons to Danny. Weres were notoriously tight-lipped. Back to Sadie, then. I needed to find out what she was, and if she had any skeletons in her closet. Victimology mattered. It told you more about the perp than almost anything else.

Like I had done a thousand times before, I organized and studied my evidence, looking for patterns. The police report included printouts from Sadie's email accounts, but nothing unusual stood out. I tacked a large map of the metro area to a wall in the third bedroom that served as my workspace, plotting out places she visited and trying to trace the connections. So far I was coming up with zip. Johnny Five needs more input.

I took a quick shower and downed another cup of tea before putting on my undercover gear: a pair of charcoal slacks, a dark green fitted blouse, a blazer, and a Colorado Bureau of Investigation badge.

The July sun streamed through my window as I drove toward the city, baking my pale skin and causing beads of sweat to gather between my shoulder blades and over my chest. I followed I-70 to 25, heading south as the highway hugged Denver's western edge. The gold peak of the Ritchie Center loomed to my right as I exited onto University. Sadie Warren lived only a few blocks from the University of Denver campus.

I knocked twice on her apartment door and received no answer. Well, then. Plan B. I pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and gripped the doorknob, glancing over my shoulder to look for witnesses or security cameras, then sent out a small tendril of my will. My senses swam over the lock, finding the tumblers, and I pushed gently. The lock clicked, and I darted inside.

Breaking and entering and lying to people were unfortunate but sometimes necessary parts of my job. Thanks to my witchy abilities, I was also better at it than your average crook. Typically, the Council covered my ass, but I wasn't sure how generous they'd be with me moonlighting. I'd just have to activate my ninja mode.

Cheap Swedish furniture occupied the small but neat apartment, accompanied by pops of bright color and pictures of friends. I ran my hands over the knickknacks and books on the shelves, probing for traces of magic. Nothing. Freaking great. I searched under the couch cushions and in the kitchen cabinets. Just more run-of-the-mill crap. I snorted at a collection of dead plants on the windowsill. You and me share the same black thumb, Sadie.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and my regular, human CBI captain's name flashed across the screen. Dammit. I'd need to turn up there soon. Deep cover life is hard, man.

I moved to one of the bedrooms, examining a few of the personal items to confirm it was my vic's. A twin bed dressed in pink